The Writing's on the Wall
by Joodiff
Summary: My version of the 'Hardest Word'/"Who wrote that stuff about me on the walls?" FB challenge. Rated T for language. Enjoy!


**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing.

**A/N:** _My version of the 'Hardest Word'/"Who wrote that stuff about me on the walls?" FB challenge._

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><p><strong>The Writing's on the Wall<strong>

by Joodiff

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><p>"You're in so much trouble," Mel says gleefully as she leans against Frankie's desk and folds her arms. Grinning, she continues, "Oh, God, Frankie, you should have seen the look on his face."<p>

"Fuck," Frankie says succinctly. "Thanks a lot, Mel. This is all your fault."

Laughing and indignant all at the same time, Mel rolls her eyes. "_My_ fault? I didn't write it, did I?"

"I was drunk," Frankie says defensively. "You could've stopped me."

Mel shakes her head. "No chance; I was drunk, too, remember?"

Leaning back in her chair, Frankie glares at her friend. "It _is_ your fault. You didn't need to take him in there, did you? Fuck's sake, there are a hundred places in the building to hide away from Bulmer's lot, and you had to choose – "

"Oh, no," Mel interrupts quickly, holding up her hands. "I'm not taking the blame."

"Fine," Frankie says sullenly. She eyes Mel reproachfully for a moment before finally asking, "You're _sure_ he saw it?"

"Oh, yes. He saw it. He asked who wrote it."

Frankie sighs heavily. "Oh, God. I'm screwed."

Mel sniggers in an extremely unbecoming fashion. "Are you talking about the Christmas party again?"

Frankie's glare deepens and darkens. "Piss off, Mel. I was drunk then, too."

"So you keep insisting. What's that Shakespeare quote? Oh, yeah… _'__The __lady __doth __protest __too __much__'_."

"Fuck _off_. Right, that's it. I'm going to – "

Her threat, however, is interrupted by the sudden arrival of Grace. Still shrugging into a white lab coat, she approaches them, her expression utterly composed. Frankie and Mel exchange guilty looks.

It's Mel who says innocently, "Hi, Grace..."

"I thought I'd find you in here," Grace announces calmly.

Mel straightens up. "Actually, I was just going, I have to – "

"Oh, no," Grace says, still completely serene. And absolutely implacable. "You're not going anywhere. Either of you."

Again, Frankie and Mel exchange looks. In the 'sort-of-surrogate-parent' stakes, mum is a lot harder to get round than dad. She may not shout as loudly – or at all, in fact – but generally she simply doesn't need to. Boyd is quick-tempered and mercurial; he loses his temper, he storms, he shouts and then he calms down and forgets all about whatever it was that caused the tantrum. Not so Grace. Grace is quiet, thoughtful and precise, quite capable of cutting anyone – _anyone_ – down to size with just a few well-chosen, pithy words.

There's a long, tense silence. Mel breaks first. She points at Frankie. "It was her."

"Snitch," Frankie mutters.

"I see," Grace says, in the same calm, considered tone. "And you had absolutely nothing at all to do with it, _Amelia_?"

"We were a bit drunk," Mel admits in a tiny voice. "Celebrating my promotion… Frankie needed a wee. We found a pen on the floor and… it sort of… happened."

"'It sort of happened'," Grace echoes. "That's what you want me to report back to Boyd, is it? 'It sort of happened'."

Silence. Mel shuffles her feet. Frankie stares rigidly at her keyboard. Grace starts to laugh. Mel looks relieved.

Frankie merely curses and says, "Thanks, Grace. Thanks so much."

"Oh, Frankie," Grace manages, still chuckling. "Oh dear, oh dear…"

"Yeah, really funny. Bloody hysterical. You can both stop laughing now."

"You're so cruel, Grace," Mel says, grinning hugely. "God, I really thought we were for it, then…"

Grace smiles mischievously and sits down. "You probably deserved a scare, the pair of you."

"So, er…" Frankie starts. She hesitates, then presses on, "Boyd. Has he… er… said anything else…?"

"About?"

"The… er… graffiti."

Grace makes a tutting noise. "Frankie, I'm disappointed in you."

"You are? Why?"

Shaking her head, Grace looks from Frankie to Mel and back. "You're a scientist, Frankie. You're supposed to deal in facts."

"Okay," Frankie says slowly. "I'm obviously being really stupid here… just put me out of my misery, Grace, please."

Patiently, Grace asks, "What exactly did Mel tell you?"

"That Boyd saw the stuff on the wall and asked who wrote it."

"And you didn't ask any further questions?"

"Well, no…"

Grace smiles. Beatifically. "Frankie, he didn't have his glasses on."

"And," Frankie says slowly, the truth beginning to dawn, "He can't read a bloody thing without them… The best he could do was pick out his name… Oh, Mel, you're so dead. So, _so_ dead."

Mel is laughing, Grace is laughing. Frankie is not laughing.

"If I were you," Grace says once she is able to speak calmly again, "I'd nip in there quick and clean it off – before he has a chance to think about it and his curiosity gets the better of him."

"Good plan," Frankie says, already on her feet. "Great plan. Thanks, Grace."

"Frankie?" Grace calls after her.

"Yeah?"

"You don't need to put a hyphen in 'teddy bear'."

"Oh. Okay. Thanks."

"And, Frankie?"

"Yeah?"

Grace raises her eyebrows. "There's an 'e' in 'donkey'."

"I was drunk, okay?" Frankie glowers.

"She says that a lot," Mel supplies helpfully.

Grace waits until Frankie's gone before pinning Mel with a cool, level gaze and asking, "Do I want to know where the inspiration came from?"

Mel grimaces slightly. "Probably not, to be honest, Grace."

"I thought not."

"It was just the drink," Mel says after a moment. "We thought it was funny… '_What's the difference between Boyd and a teddy bear_ –'"

"' – _most teddy bears aren't hung like donkeys_'…?"

"Frankie exaggerates when she's pissed," Mel explains with a shrug.

Grace is smiling again. She says, "Or not."

Mel blinks. Stares. Thinks about it. Blinks again. "Grace…?"

"I'm not saying another word," Grace says. "Except…"

"Except?"

"I've known Boyd for a _long_ time. We go _way_ back."

"Grace…?"

But this time Grace just smiles. Enigmatically.

"Great," Mel complains eventually. "Why do I suddenly feel like the odd one out here…?"

Grace is at the door before she glances over her shoulder and says, "Don't worry, Mel, it's not just you – as far as I know he hasn't slept with Spence, either."

To which, frankly, Mel can think of absolutely no answer.

– _the end_ –


End file.
